Grief, Sobriety, and the Girl on the Porch

Grief. It’s a funny thing.

It shows you who’s strong, who’s breaking, and who’s just trying to survive. Some people self-isolate (hi, it’s me). Some surround themselves with love and noise. And some—well, some use it as an excuse to lean into their vices.

Before we go any further, let me say this:

Alcoholism and drug addiction run in my blood.

I’ve been surrounded by alcohol my entire life. Family gatherings, holidays, tough days, good days—it was always there. And listen, I know this might hit home for a lot of my family, but this topic needs to be talked about. I’m not coming for anyone. I’m just trying to open minds and offer a different point of view. Because this—this is mine.

I used to drink. For any reason—good news, bad news, no news. It was my clutch, my default, my comfort. But now? I write and smoke (working on that second one). Today’s episode of Brittany’s Click & Tell is about something I’ve been avoiding talking about—alcoholism.

I quit drinking nine months ago.

And not only has my body thanked me, but so has my mind, my spirit, and my relationships (the real ones, at least).

Losing Spike sober has opened my eyes in ways I never expected. I’ve cried, sure. I’ve sat in silence, stared at walls, and questioned everything. But I felt it all. Every bit of it. And that, I think, is the point.

When my step-grandfather died, I did what I knew—drank to “feel happy.” Spoiler: I got drunk and got sad. And stayed sad. For a long time.

Last May, a friend of mine lost his sister. I went to the memorial, drank like it was a celebration, and then drove home drunk. Yeah. I did that.

Explain that logic.

Because I can’t.

Me and alcohol? We don’t get along. And that’s not to say you shouldn’t drink. If you can have a glass of wine or a beer and be your best, most loving self—truly, I envy you. But if you drink and end up fighting, crying, spiraling, or waking up to apologize for things you barely remember—I’m talking to you.

It is not good for you.

It was not good for me.

Since I gave up drinking, I’ve lost friends. Or maybe they lost me. Either way, we don’t talk anymore. Do I miss them? Absolutely. But not enough to bring back the old Brittany.

I like this new version of me.

She drinks coffee on her porch and remembers the hangovers she’s not having for Spike.

She writes instead of drinks. She feels instead of numbs. She lets her grief breathe.

I’m not judging. I promise.

But if you’re reading this and you’re in that place—the dark, lonely, “maybe a drink will help” place—just ask yourself what my mom used to ask me during every vent session (bless her patience):

“Are you having more bad days than good?”

Because when the answer is yes, it’s time to stop fighting the wrong battle.

I still want a beer almost every day.

But I want peace more.

I want clarity more.

I want me more.

And if grief has taught me anything, it’s this: some people drown in it, and some people grow from it.

Today, I choose growth.

And if you’re not ready yet, that’s okay. But when you are—I’ll be here.

Sipping coffee.

Telling stories.

Choosing peace.